Scarface
by Disturbin Tha Peace
Summary: The Italian's have muscled in on the Cuban's and Haitian's turf and they aren't happy about it. Gang warfare is about to get a lot more interesting in Miami. Adult Themes.


**AN:** This is ghetto, so it will have drugs, violence, swearing and racism – oh, and sexual references. If this bother's you, don't read on. 

**_Scarface_**

**_Chapter 1_**

Salvatore had always been large, ever since he was a little boy he had been chubbier than all the other kids. He was dangerously over weight, but he didn't care. "I'm gonna die anyway" he used to say "what does it matter? I got the money to eat at plush places so why the fuck would I want to eat salad for lunch?" 

He stood at five feet five inches tall, weighed a little over two hundred and twenty pounds, had black receding hair and a small scar on his right cheek. Throughout his schooling days the other kids used to call him "Fat Tony" (His mother changed his name from Salvatore to Anthony when they migrated to America) a name which stuck like glue until he was stabbed in the cheek with a broken bottle outside a night club in Pittsburgh four years ago, which subsequently earned him the name "Scarface". Those who knew Salvatore well knew it was wise not to call him either of those two names, especially the latter. One person who unfortunately did refer to Salvatore as "Scarface" was beaten to within an inch of his life inside a California restaurant, kidnapped, and was fed to the lions at San Diego zoo. Salvatore was reading the morning newspaper, drinking a glass of expensive red whine and smoking the finest Cuban cigars. Just as he wrapped fat lips around the butt, a tall, lanky man peered into the room and whispered "Uh mister Carboni sir, can I talk to you for a minute?"   
"What!?" Bellowed the angry Godfather. "Can't you see I'm trying to read the fucking newspaper?"   
"Well, I've come to talk to you about Stefano?"  
"What about him?" Salvatore rose out of his chair  
"Ah-ah nothing, nothing mister Salvatore sir, It's just that, well I'm having some troubles with Stefano."  
"Like what?"  
"He's out of his mind. He's crazy. He's always stirring up shit. Like the other day, I'm sitting down with the boys playing cards, all of a sudden the next thing I know he lifts me out my seat and tells me to come back when I grow a cock. I can't have that Tony, I'm a respectable figure, you know that Tony, I can't be disrespected in front of the boys like--"  
"Well what the fuck do you want me to do? I'm not his fucking mother Bill. What do you want me to do?"  
"Talk to him Tony--"  
"I have talked to hi, he doesn't listen."  
"But he will listen to _you_, Tony--"  
"He won't Bill I've talked to him a million fucking times he just doesn't listen."  
"Then make him listen. Threaten him, bash him, shoot the little prick for all I fucking care just--" Salvatore gave Bill a hard stare that would make the devil himself quiver with fear.  
"Look Tony I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's just that he's been bustin' my balls lately and I can only take so much of this disrespect you know? He's going to far. I mean, every one done at the spot are calling me needle dick because of this shit, I can't take it Tony, I can't--"  
"Look, Bill relax. I'll fix him up, okay? Don't sweat it. Now go on, relax, play cards, get your dick sucked, do somethin'."  
"Oh thank your Tony, your a great man, thank you so much."  
"Close the fucking door on your way out too."  
Salvatore stood up a pored himself another glass of wine, then suddenly the phone rang.  
"It's gonna be one of those fucking days today Isn't?" He announced.  
"Hello----Lo Stefano, Come lei sono, lei il vecchio cane, non ho parlato a lei per un mentre, come lei tenendo su?----Le notizie cattive? Ciò che è successo?----You stupid motherfucker, you stupid ignorant motherfucker. What have I always told you Stefano, huh? What have I always fucking told you?----Exactly! Never make a deal over the fucking phone. So what do you, you fucking do one over the phone----Well how many then?----Fuck me dead Stefano, you really are a stupid motherfucker you know that? You fucking leccacazzi----Well how long have you been there for----uh huh and where you at?----Pittsburgh County Correctional Facility. And how much is it gonna cost----HALF A MILLION??!! Fuckin hell Stefano----Don't be sorry Stefano, be careful. Be careful, I've told you all your fucking life not to make deals over the phone haven't I? And this is why, cos the fuckin feds will be on your ass like a fuckin nappy rash.----Okay, I'll be there in an hour.----Ciao."  
  
The black, 1964 Cadillac Impala pulled up across from the County Jail. Four neatly suited men emerged from the vehicle and walked across the busy street without fear. Two of the men sat down on a park bench outside the jail, the other two entered the main office block. Salvatore was accompanied by his nephew, Julian. Julian was tall, dark handsome man and could easily be mistaken for a movie star rather than a gangster. He didn't fit the typical gangster mold - he was tall, muscular and extremely charming.  
"Can I help you two gentleman?" Asked the old man. He looked atleast 60 caught in a dead end go no where job.  
"I'm here ta bus' ma fratello outta this joint" Demanded the younger Carboni.  
"Umm, what he means to say is that we have come to pay bail for a mister De'Angeles. Stefano De'Angeles." Interrupted Salvatore.  
"Okay, wait just a second." Whistled the old man  
Salvatore counted his steady heartbeats as he waited with outward patience.**  
**"Salvatore." Echoed Stefano.  
"Ah look who it is, mister 'Big Mouth' himself."  
"Whoa whoa whoa, Tony, why you bustin' ma balls for?"  
"Get in the fuckin' car Stefano." Demanded Salvatore, as he pointed towards the passenger seat.  
There was an awkward silence as the Cadillac sped away from the Jail.  
"I'm sorry Tony." Groveled Stefano. "I don't know what I was thinking. You were right, you always are. It'll never happen again Tony I swe--"  
"I know It'll never fucking happen again, I'm going to make sure of it." Stated Salvatore.  
There was another long moment of awkward silence, which made Stefano nervous.  
"I didn't mean to let you down Tony."  
Tony did not answer, eyes concentrating on the busy street.  
"Tony?"  
"What? You've disappointed me Stef. I thought you were smarter than that you know. I would of expected some shit for brains dickhead to get pinched from phone taps, not you. For 15 years Stefano I've told you 'Don't make deals over the phone. Don't mention names, locations, hits, deals, nothing.' Nothing Stefano."  
"What If I could make it up to you?"  
"How?"  
"Well, we ain't gettin' shit here in Pittsburgh. These fuckin' spics and niggers aren't scared anymore, they ain't payin' protection and they makin' they're own coke and pushin' it like we don't exist--"  
"And you're just gonna wave your little magic wand make everything the way it used to be huh?"  
"No but I was thinking, what if we shifted our operation?"  
"You stupid motherfucker Stefano." Bellowed the younger Carboni from behind the wheel.  
"So where do you propose we shift off too?"  
"Miami."  
"Miami?" Questioned both Carboni's.  
"Yeah, hear me out. Okay, the Cubans and the Haitians practically run Miami right, but they ain't got shit right--"  
"So your sayin' we just pack up leave our establishment, move on down to Miami, and push out the Cubans AND the Haitians? HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND?Are you fucking stupid?"  
"No no no no, Tony, we have the power and the numbers to send these border jumping motherfuckers packing, and there's only two organizations to compete with, and I've got some shit on them too."  
"Hmmm, like what?"  
  
***SIX MONTHS LATER***  
  
A lonely figure walked down the quiet neighbourhood street. He was a small, stocky man, of Haitian background, He wore traiditional Haitian gang colours, a red bandana across his forearm. He was stocky, obviously Haitian, even if you overlooked his tattoos and the red bandanna of the prominent gang. The black car that had followed him there came to a halt gently beside the suspcious ganster. "Cubans!" He thought. He knew they were, he recognised the Cuban tattoos and gang colours worn by the driver. Five men jumped out of the car and approached the Haitian, one of them grabbing him by the collar showing no respect for his expensive suit, and slaming him into a near by fence.  
"Yo Ese you got ma shit holmes?"  
"Na holmes I ain't got cha shit."  
The large Cuban struck the small man across the face.  
"Why the fuck haven't you got my shit holmes?" Screamed the Cuban  
"Cos no one buyin' it Ese." Pleaded the man.  
The large Cuban struck him again.  
"Don't fuckin lie to me puto."  
"I swear to god holmes nobody buyin your shit, please oh please holmes don't kill me, oh please. I got a girlfriend holmes--"  
"Shut the fuck up Ese. Now why the fuck you ain't sellin this shit? Are you fuckin' smokin' ma shit Ese"  
"Na Ese I swear I ain't smokin' ya shit, these other holmes is sellin to ma regulars holmes, fo' real."  
The large Cuban struck the man again.  
"You fucking lie to me Ese? Don't lie to me Ese, I hate fucking liars Ese!" Screamed the Cuban.  
"Oh please I swear to fucking god man I'm not lying to you holmes." Pleaded the wounded man, half conscious.  
"Then what do you know about these other cats Ese?"  
"I don't know shit mayne."  
"You lie to me!" The Cuban repeatedly struck the man.  
"Okay okay holmes I talk please I'll talk. Okay there's these new Italian Ese's in town holmes, big timers holmes. They practically fuckin' takin' over holmes."  
"You fuckin' lying to me holmes?"  
"Nah holmes I swear to fucking god on my mothers fuckin' grave holmes I ain't fuckin' lyin' to you holmes."  
"If I find out your fucking lying holmes, we gon' get real motherfuckin' acquainted. You ever have your shit pushed in holmes?"  
"N-n-nah I ain't never had dat holmes?" Stuttered the frightened Haitian.  
"Thirteen years Ese. I did thirteen fuckin' years in the pen. And when your away for that long Ese, you get real found of little tight bitches like you. So you better not be lying puto, 'cos if you are Ese--"  
"Nah holmes I fuckin' swear I ain't lyin to you holmes."  
"Good, 'cos I got some work fo' yo' little punk ass."  
"W-w-what?"  
"You gonna find out about these new puto's aiight Ese?"  
There was a slight break of a silence. The Cuban grabbed the man by the collar.  
"I fuckin' said you gonna do it Ese!"  
"Aiight aiight holmes, shit man, take a fuckin' chill holmes."  
"Don't fuckin' act up holmes I fuck you up Ese."

**AN:** This was edited by Gray Rain – she writes for the fantasy section, she's worth checking out if you've got some time to kill. 


End file.
